


The Dragon, the Lion, and the Golden Lotus

by Laeviss



Series: Wranduin! [9]
Category: Warcraft - All Media Types, World of Warcraft, World of Warcraft - Various Authors
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Frottage, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Reunion, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-04
Updated: 2020-02-04
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:27:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22550974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laeviss/pseuds/Laeviss
Summary: After their confrontation in the throne room, Wrathion thinks he will be spending his night in Stormwind alone. However, a late night invitation to the royal courtyard grants him a second chance to make amends with the king.
Relationships: Wrathion/Anduin Wrynn
Series: Wranduin! [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1756381
Comments: 8
Kudos: 99





	The Dragon, the Lion, and the Golden Lotus

Wrathion leaned his hip against the windowsill and watched the sun disappear behind the cathedral spire. Reds and oranges started to fade to greys, and the white stone of the city grew fainter and less distinct in the shadows. Soon there was only the twinkling of oil streetlamps to light the streets, and the only glimpse of life he caught came when someone passed into their halo.

Just beyond the Keep wall he could make out two figures kissing on the porch of a small, well-lit house. Framed in a golden glow, it was hard not to stare, and wonder. How long had it been since he had watched mortals at their leisure like this? For a moment, it felt like standing in the Shrine of the Seven Stars once more, leaning against the balcony and whispering to Anduin about the champions and their comings and goings. 

But Wrathion wasn’t at the Shrine sipping tea this evening, and Anduin, notably, wasn’t by his side. Biting his lower lip, he raised a hand to his cheek and touched the spot where Anduin had struck him a few hours before. 

He wasn’t mad, nor was he shocked. He had set ablaze the only bridge he had ever managed to build, and knowing that had kept him away from Stormwind while he was being pursued, when he learned of King Varian’s death, and even after rumors of Anduin’s deep depression had reached his ears. Had it been the right choice? He wasn’t sure, but avoidance had been easier than confronting whatever rejection might await him. 

As far as rejections went, he quickly reminded himself, this one wasn’t nearly as dramatic or severe as some of the scenarios he had played out. At least he could cling to that. 

Giving up his watch for a moment, he straightened and crossed the blue-and-gold rug in the center of his room to sit on the corner of the bed. Kicking off his boots and flexing his toes, he took a moment to just…relax. 

Thoughts of Anduin and what he might be doing with Baine and the Speaker five floors below still lingered in the corners of his mind, but after a few deep breaths he felt like he might be able to rest. Swinging his legs up on the bed, he scooted until he leaned against the headboard. Slipping his bracelets from his wrists, then unhooking the hoops in his ears, he created a small pile of gold on the nightstand beside the bed. 

He breathed in and closed his eyes. With nothing to gaze upon, there was so much else to take in: the faint saltiness in the air, the squeak of armor as the guards paced the hall. Somewhere in the distance a dog howled, and a slight gust of wind scratched at the latch holding the window closed. 

He had spent so many nights curled in a cave on Draenor or huddled in steerage with a hood pulled over his face fantasizing about this city. He had wondered about the flavor of Stormwind coffee and how Anduin’s face might glow in the light of the sun reflecting off of the sea. 

The silk pillow under his head, at least, wasn’t far from what he had pictured, though the bed he had imagined beneath it had been larger and far more regal. Nonetheless, he tried to cling to reality: the knowledge that he was here, in Anduin’s city, a guest in Anduin’s very home. 

His clawed fingers toyed with the pillow’s gold trim and the tension at the corners of his lips finally started to go slack. For a time, he lapsed into silence. 

However, just as he faded into a comfortable lull, a sound seized him and ripped him out of it. He bolted upright, looking first to the window, and then to the door, before chancing a low, somewhat strained, “Hello?” He cursed himself for how quick his heart was to pound; even here in Stormwind Keep he couldn’t feel truly safe. 

Shaking his head and dropping his feet to the floor, he looked around, then tried again, a bit louder: “Hello? Is somebody there?” 

There was a bit of shuffling by the door, and then another soft knock, before someone replied in a nervous voice: “Your Highness—ah, Black Prince, sir—I have brought you your nighttime tea.”

Her apprehension made him wonder if he had made some kind of indignant sound in his sleep, though it was far more likely his presence alone was causing her unease. Trying to put her off from it, he willed his voice to steady. Swallowing, and smiling, he replied with as much nonchalance as he could manage:

“There’s really no need, but thank you. In fact, I think I am turning in for the night.”

“But sir—!” She cut in. Her boldness caught him off guard. He took a few steps forward, lingering before the door with his brows slightly raised.

She took a breath. Wrathion could almost feel the hitch in her voice. There was a pause, and then she whispered to him through the wood, “Orders from his Majesty, sir.”

That was all Wrathion needed to hear. Shooting his hand to the door handle, he closed his fingers around it and turned. The door swung in to reveal a pale-faced maid with red curls that clung to her brow. In her hands, she clutched a silver tray. The gleam immediately drew Wrathion’s gaze, and when he saw what sat upon it, he felt as if the air had been knocked from his lungs.

On the left, there was a single, gold flower with its petals fanning out on all sides. He recognized the bloom at once, and his heart suddenly clenched. Staggering slightly, he reached out to grasp the door frame. The maid let out asqueak and stepped forward. The golden lotus shimmered with the force of her movement, and the cup and saucer beside it tinked as they bumped against the edge of the tray.

It was only after he heard that sound that he truly noticed the tea. The blond-colored liquid sloshed over the rim of the cup and dripped a few drops onto the white plate below. It bled into something else, something that had been hastily scrawled in ink around the saucer’s edge. 

Though the tea caused the ink to blotch and spread its tendrils across the surface, it was still perfectly legible to the dragon; the hand in which it was written was still very familiar to him. There were just four characters, but they carried enough force to leave him speechless.

‘Garden,’ Anduin had written in beginner’s Pandaren, ‘Nine PM.’ 

Snatching the tray from the stunned attendant and slamming the door closed behind him, Wrathion rushed over to the bed. He scooped up the lotus in his palms and cradled it to his chest, breathing in its scent and hoping this wasn’t some kind of dream. 

Time seemed to stretch on forever until the 8:45 bell finally tolled.

__________

Wrathion readjusted his tunic and stepped out from the stairwell into the royal courtyard. He was immediately struck by how different it looked bathed in moonlight. The nobles and champions who had loitered chattering on the benches had long since gone home, and now the only whispers he heard were the leaves rustling in a faint breeze.

The desolation made the lone figure waiting for him on the walkway all the easier to spot. 

After taking a few moments to collect himself, Wrathion approached. Even though the click of his heels on stone seemed to echo off every wall, Anduin made no move to acknowledge him. He just remained between two columns, gazing out over the lake. The moonlight on his hair made it look almost white: a fitting match, Wrathion soon found, for the grimness lining his face. 

Wrathion moved to stand by his side. He swallowed. A wave of dread washed over him, and his pulse quickened in his ear. 

He opened his mouth to speak, but then Anduin cut him off: 

“Why didn’t you come to me earlier?”

It wasn’t what Wrathion expected to hear, and it caught him off guard. Any explanation he had planned seemed to die on the tip of his tongue. Brows arching, he tried to shoot Anduin a look, but the king didn’t acknowledge him. He remained still, shoulders squared, and his blue eyes searching the night.

“I didn’t think you would want to see me,” he admitted, as nonchalant as he could manage. Realizing the king had no intention of making eye contact, he instead followed his gaze to the water. Two Pandaren sat by the shore sipping from oversized mugs, but otherwise it was still: placid, even.

It was such a contrast to the tension hanging in the space between them.

Shaking his head slightly, Wrathion cleared his throat to say more, but Anduin cut him off:

“No letter, no message, nothing. I didn’t even know you were alive until last month, and I had to hear it from one of my champions. Do you understand how that made me feel, Wrathion? Do you even care?”

Despite the weight of his words, Anduin’s tone remained even save for a slight hitch in his breath. That hollowness stung worse than any crying or screaming Anduin could have done. He sounded so tired, and empty. 

Wrathion frowned and chanced another glance in the human’s direction, shifting ever-so-slightly to close the gap between them. Anduin must have sensed it, however, because he tensed, and took a step to his left. 

Wrathion didn’t follow. If Anduin wanted his space, he would give it to him. He stood instead with his hands by his side and his clawed fingers flexing as he tried to decide how to proceed. Pursing his lip, he considered his options, quickly weighing each response and the reaction it was likely to evoke. There was so much he needed to say, but none of it felt quite right.

If he admitted he was afraid of being imprisoned he would look selfish. If he revealed he had feared Anduin hated him he would look self-pitying. After further consideration, he settled on what he thought to be the easiest answer. 

“I did try, you know,” he pointed out, “On Draenor. I’m not sure if anyone informed you, but I actually turned myself in. I had hopes I would be returned to Stormwind, and perhaps we could reach some kind of accord, but then your Admiral Taylor—”

“— _Died_ because of you, Wrathion. Don’t you _dare_ say his name to me.”

“Because of me?” Wrathion quickly shot back. In a rush to explain himself, he forgot to measure his words. They tumbled freely from his lips, like a dam that had finally burst. “No, no, Anduin, that isn’t what happened at all. I tried to _warn him._ It isn’t my fault he was stubborn and—and foolish!”

“Don’t you _dare,_ Wrathion. Don’t you dare. That man would have died for me, and instead he fell to a traitor in a timeline he never should have visited. You don’t even care, do you? We’re all just pieces in a game to you, aren’t we? Just like we’ve always been.”

“Anduin,” Wrathion cursed himself when he heard his voice crack, but it was too late to mask it. He had hoped that this would get easier when the anger he glimpsed in the throne room returned, but now, standing alone with no threat of violence or imprisonment, it just made him feel weak in the knees. 

There was nothing left to do but face it: to face him. Wrathion turned until he was looking at him in profile and summoned a voice as gentle as he could manage. 

“You know that isn’t true, my dear,” he whispered. “You’ve never been a pawn to me.”

“I don’t know what’s true anymore, Wrathion,” Anduin countered, with slightly less fervor (but no less anger) than before. “I’m not even sure I know you.”

“But you can. I’m here now, aren’t I? And when this wretched business with N’Zoth is over, I will return, if you wish, and we can talk through everything. I won’t disappear into the shadows unless you ask me to. I promise I won’t leave you alone again.” 

“I just want to know why, Wrathion,” Anduin didn’t turn, but he at least acknowledged him, glancing slightly to his right. The dragon bowed his head, his curls tumbling forward and his red eyes downcast. Anduin swallowed audibly, then added, barely above a whisper, “Please.”

 _Why._ It was the question he had asked himself so many times while he laid awake cursing himself for all the harm he had done. Why had he tarnished what little redemption he had managed to scrape together? Why had he become the monster he feared? 

Why had he thrown away the one good thing in his life, the one person who had ever bothered to treat him with any measure of kindness, for a bronze dragon who cared nothing for him and a scheme that crumbled the moment it had been conceived? 

The memory of those dreams and those nights of torment sank like a weight in the pit of his stomach and the breeze felt colder and wetter than it should have against the nape of his neck. He was suddenly grateful that Anduin wasn’t looking directly at him. At least he had that to cling to as he bit his lip and murmured his sheepish reply. 

“I was stupid,” he looked up and cracked a faint smile, though it ached at the corners of his lips, “And scared, to put it quite simply. I made a foolish mistake.”

His confession seemed to give Anduin pause. When he straightened his back once more, he found the king watching him with his blond brows slightly arched. The scowl that had crossed his face at mention of Taylor had softened to something more like a frown. He shifted and turned. Wrathion caught sight of his shoulders shaking before he tensed and rolled them back.

The dragon expected his change in stance to herald some kind of response, but at first the human said nothing. He just stood with his jaw tight and his brows knit together. Moonlight caught on his tired eyes, but the rest of his face was dark in Wrathion’s shadow. 

Worried for a moment that his honesty had been ill-gauged, Wrathion clenched then unclenched his hand. Just as he prepared to say something else—something more thorough, perhaps—however, Anduin finally cut in:

“I spent so many nights crying over you, you know. So many times, I hid and broke down because I—I remembered something you said once, or the way you used to laugh. I imagined your hand against mine or you waiting beside my throne, resting a hand on my shoulder as I stood at my father’s funeral, as Genn—” 

“—I know,” Wrathion stopped him. It was quite clear to him now that the shaking had little to do with anger, and Wrathion hurried to comfort him. It was the least he could do after so many missed opportunities. Casting aside his impulse to cling to bravado or the smirk he liked to hide behind, Wrathion frowned, lowered his gaze, and took a tentative step towards the king. 

“As did I,” the dragon admitted. Each word felt heavy on his lips. He had to swallow before he could continue. “I wept for you often and mourned your losses. I never wanted to hurt you, Anduin. I am sorry.” 

So unused to being so blatant about his feelings, Wrathion at first took the shift in Anduin’s stance for discomfort. Straightening and trying to compose himself, the dragon willed any sadness to leave his face. When Anduin clenched his hands by his sides, he waited. When he heard the shaky exhale that left the king’s lips, he regretted having said anything at all. 

But his concerns, it turned out, had been misplaced. After a few silent seconds, and a few moments spent fumbling with the gold-piped hem of his tunic sleeve, Anduin mumbled under his breath, “I don’t…know where my anger at you ends and where N’Zoth’s corruptions begins.”

Wrathion felt his eyes widen. His jaw, which had, moments ago, been clenched, now went slack. He answered as calmly as he could manage, “I’m afraid that isn’t something I can tell you for sure. Only you can know your own thoughts.”

“Well,” Anduin’s voice rose, “I hate it.” 

“Titans, don’t we all.”

The king let out a short laugh, and Wrathion realized what he had just said: how it might be perceived. His chest tightened, and he squared his shoulders, hastily reaching to tuck back his curls. However, any fear that his jest had been taken the wrong way vanished when he looked into Anduin’s eyes.

The king still looked exhausted, and the pain that had lined his lips showed no sign of softening. But there was something else there—a glimmer of the boy Wrathion had once kissed in the Tavern and teased until his pale cheeks turned red. For a moment, the dragon contented himself just to study him, trying to memorize that expression in case he never saw it again. 

Anduin neither recoiled from the scrutiny nor tried to banish the look. Instead he swallowed and took a step to close the distance between them. Wrathion’s slit pupils widened. He froze, waiting and wondering how Anduin planned to proceed. 

Thankfully, he didn’t have to wonder for long. Anduin raised his right hand and held it out to Wrathion’s cheek. His fingers lingered there for a pause. Wrathion could feel their warmth and the way they quivered as their bare tips brushed his skin.

But Anduin seemed to catch himself in the act, freezing, and hurrying to explain, “Sorry, I, ah, just wanted to check, to make sure you were all right.”

“If you’re worried about the punch, my dear, you didn’t hit me that hard.”

“I—” 

Even in the shadows, Wrathion caught Anduin blush. He grinned, and the king shook his head. Taking a chance, the dragon tilted his head until he made contact with Anduin’s palm. The fingers that had waited against his flesh now spread out; the king’s thumb moved to rest on the curve of his cheekbone and three digits slipped gently into his beard. 

The three years since they last had touched suddenly felt like nothing and everything. Wrathion closed his eyes and exhaled, savoring the warmth of Anduin’s hand. It was as gentle as he had remembered, but also larger and far more calloused. The tension that had pulled his shoulders taut now started to unwind, and when he smiled, he no longer felt its ache in his jaw.

The king’s expression, however, remained solemn. When Wrathion opened his eyes, he found him regarding his face with a searching look. 

Brushing the side of his thumb along the curve of his cheekbone, Anduin whispered, “I never wanted to hurt someone I care about. I mean it. I’m upset, but I still—”

“—I know,” Wrathion nodded, matching the king’s hushed tone.

“—never wanted to do what my father—” Anduin’s voice cracked when he said it. Wrathion took a step closer, and, with little deliberation, reached out and rested his fingers against the curve of Anduin’s neck. He could feel the human swallow and the way each breath caught in his throat.

“—I know. And you didn’t,” he tried to stop him again. He was desperate to, in fact, as he felt Anduin’s pulse racing beneath his hand. He did the only thing he could think to do. 

Sliding his thumb down along the curve of the king’s jaw, he stopped at his chin and toyed with the sparse hairs he found there. The pain on Anduin’s face yielded to something akin to surprise. Wrathion felt his jaw tense, then drop as he parted his lips to protest. The fingers in Wrathion’s own beard tightened their grip.

“W-what—?” Anduin started to ask, but Wrathion cut him off:

“You’ve been working on this, I see. Excellent job, King Anduin.”

The human’s eyes got impossibly wide. His face burned under Wrathion’s touch, but just when Wrathion started to worry he’d crossed a line, his old friend managed to clap back:

“Oh? And what about yours?” Anduin’s hand slid down over his lips, then disappeared in the thick brown hair jutting out from his chin. Wrathion couldn’t help but look proud, but Anduin went on to tease, “Was all of this _really_ necessary? Was all of this…?”

Anduin suddenly trailed off, and his gaze fell to Wrathion’s chest. Holding his breath, Wrathion felt the king’s fingers slide from the tip of his beard to trace over his Star Ruby pendant, then to settle in the soft black hair peeking out from the "v" of his collar. 

The dragon arched his brow. Anduin let out a sigh, somewhere between flustered and exasperated. 

“Well?” Wrathion prodded. At this point, with Anduin’s hand on his half-bare chest, how could he not? 

He expected some kind of embarrassed remark, but when Anduin said nothing, he continued the tease on his own: “Satisfied, I see. Well, I’m glad to hear it. I would hate to disappoint in every respect this evening.”

“That isn’t—!” Anduin all but sputtered. Wrathion withdrew his hand from his neck to instead clasp the top of his shoulder. 

“No need to explain yourself, Anduin. Truly, I understand. I am quite taken by the man you’ve become, as well. Understand the feeling is mutual.”

With that, Anduin rolled his eyes. The hand on Wrathion’s chest flexed, then reached up to give his brooch a gentle tug forward. Wrathion studied his expression closely, from his frown to the flush on his cheeks to the way the moon lit his golden bangs, and then he leaned in to wrap his arms gently around him.

Their cheeks brushed. Anduin tilted his head and nuzzled, before reaching up to sweep back his curly hair. The king kissed the curve of his ear; Wrathion felt his breath hitch, then quiver like a cry against his skin.

And with that, he whispered for only Wrathion to hear, a soft and simple: “Please.”

____________

The door hadn’t even clicked closed before Wrathion found himself pressed back against it. Caught off guard, he steepled his fingers on the wood behind him for support. Just like he had in the throne room, he let Anduin take what he wanted. He parted his lips and gasped as the human’s chest pressed against his.

The kisses he remembered them sharing at the Tavern were soft and tentative, but there was very little of that gentleness left on Anduin’s lips tonight. Instead Wrathion felt the sharp edge of teeth grazing his skin and the firmness of Anduin’s nose as it rubbed against his. The king’s hands moved to his waist, and Wrathion finally let his own fingers relax and splay out on the door’s smooth surface. 

This subtle shift in his stance only seemed to encourage Anduin to step closer. The tips of their boots knocked together and, with a breathless sigh, the human abandoned his mouth to kiss instead at the soft skin just below his earlobe. Wrathion let his eyes slide closed, and—for a moment at least—savored the human’s assault on the soft skin of his neck. 

Anduin’s bangs tickled the side of his face when the king tilted his head to deepen the contact. His grip on the dragon’s waist loosened, then started to stroke from his ribs to his hips then back up. The sensation made Wrathion arch his back, and before he knew it, his hands abandoned the door to drape, instead, over Anduin’s shoulders.

It wasn’t until Anduin’s mouth made it down to the curve of his neck that Wrathion gave in and changed their stance. Catching the king unawares, he slipped out from under him and turned him until it was his back pressed into the door. Rather than unleashing his own desperation, however, Wrathion took a moment to regard him. One hand moved up to undo Anduin’s ponytail and let his hair tumble down the sides of his face. The other reached out and cupped his cheek, trying to learn its shape with the tip of his claw-like nail. 

Anduin looked up and his eyes widened. It seemed as if he had finally processed what he'd done to him moments before. His flushed lips parted, and heat rose to the tip of his ears. 

But Wrathion wasn’t particularly interested. He just grinned and touched the human with far less restraint than he had shown in the garden. He slipped his fingers into Anduin’s hair, then to the soft curve of his nose, then over his mouth to cup the tip of his chin. He nudged him there, then leaned down and pressed their lips together. Unlike Anduin, he made sure to take his time, no matter how much he wanted to bear down on him and release all the want that had built up over the years.

With a soft exhale, he parted his lips. The tip of his tongue sought out Anduin’s, and he teased it, recalling his taste and the way he had always quivered when Wrathion nipped his lower lip.

For a moment, it seemed, the king was satisfied. He murmured a few muffled affirmations against the dragon’s mouth and slid a hand between them to toy with the Star Ruby pendant against Wrathion’s chest. When Wrathion gave his lower lip a gentle suck, he felt his grip tighten around the chain. His knuckles brushed through the hair on Wrathion’s chest. His shoulders rose, then fell as Wrathion cupped both sides of his cheeks and caressed him with increasingly less restraint. 

He broke the kiss to look down at him once more. Anduin’s lips had gone from pink to red, and his face was nearly as flushed. Light from the oil lamp hanging in the entrance to his chamber cast a shadow between his furrowed brows. 

After a few moments and a breath Wrathion felt him take, Anduin stilled his hand on Wrathion’s chest and opened his mouth to murmur a soft “What?”

“Nothing,” Wrathion quickly replied, though his voice sounded huskier than he had intended. He smirked and gently rested their foreheads together, “You simply look different, my dear. I have to take it all in.”

“Different how?” Anduin questioned. It sounded as if he already knew the answer, but Wrathion still obliged:

“Different than the boy I used to kiss under the stairs: more serious and more…” He twirled a strand of Anduin’s hair around his finger as he searched for the right word. Finally, he settled on, “More determined, I suppose. It seems I’m not the only one who has matured.”

Anduin snorted. His breath ruffled Wrathion’s mustache. The dragon expected some kind of protest, but he wasn’t prepared for Anduin’s soft admission:

“Yes, well, being king ages you, or, at least, that’s what Genn always tells me. Sometimes I feel like I haven’t slept in a month.”

 _That may be for the best,_ Wrathion started to point out, but then realized mentioning the power N’Zoth exerts in dreams might dampen the human’s spirits. Instead, he summoned a sympathetic look and leaned back to trace a finger along the side of Anduin’s face. The question that had formed on the human’s lips faded when Wrathion’s thumb brushed over them, and when Wrathion tucked his blond hair behind his ear his expression slowly started to soften.

“In that case, I may simply have to wear you out tonight.”

“Wrathion—!”

From the indignant sound Anduin made to the way his brows shot up at the comment, Wrathion worried he might have been _too_ bold. Well, he supposed, there wasn’t any backing down from it. He smirked and cupped the side of Anduin’s neck before giving his chin another firm nudge. “So nobody, not even your Mathias Shaw, will be able to wake you in the morning.”

“Wrathion!” Anduin shot back again, this time more annoyed than flustered. 

“Mhm, what was that?” Wrathion teased and pressed his free hand against the door beside Anduin’s face. It was a game they used to play, pretending to block the other’s escape. Anduin seemed to recognize the move at once, rolling his eyes and scowling. Rather than putting Wrathion off, however, the normalcy of it all made his chest feel lighter.

“I’m sorry, Anduin. I didn’t hear you. I’m afraid you’ll have to repeat yourself for this aging dragon.”

“I said—” Anduin murmured, though they both knew he hadn’t said any such thing— “That you better stop talking and kiss me again before I decide to throw you out.”

“Of course!” The dragon quipped, and before the king had the chance to say anything more, he had pressed their lips back together. He was beginning to grow quite fond of this older (and bolder) Anduin.

Sliding his fingers back up through Anduin’s hair, he gently tilted his head to the side and kissed along the curve of his throat. Again, he was taken by how he had grown. The muscles in his neck tightened as he gasped under Wrathion’s ministrations. The dragon responded by bunching up his blond locks and splaying his other hand in the center of his chest. 

This change in his stance gave him leverage to push Anduin more firmly against the door. Rather than resist, the human trailed a soft touch along Wrathion's collarbone. He dipped under his neckline and the gold chain of his ruby necklace. 

Deciding it might be in Anduin’s way, Wrathion made the item vanish, before leaning in to nip at the strong line of the human’s jaw. 

Anduin let out a gasp. Satisfied, Wrathion released his hold on his hair and pressed a hand, instead, against his waist. He used his other hand to unhook the first gold button of Anduin’s tunic and then slid it down to unlatch his thick leather belt. 

It was only then that Anduin seemed to process what was happening. Wrathion felt him shift his weight, and at first he worried it was to push him away. However, Anduin merely arched his back, pressing his hips against Wrathion’s and letting the belt fall with a clank in the space between him and the door. 

Now his tunic hung free and the grey vest underneath peeked out from its loosened collar. The hand on Wrathion’s chest, which had stilled moments before, started to move again. Anduin thumbed at the edge of his collar, then brushed his curly hair to the side to cup him where his neck met his shoulder. 

They kissed again. This time the movement forward was mutual, and their pressure was evenly matched. Wrathion let out a moan against Anduin’s lips. The human’s tongue found his and gave it a flick; Wrathion caught it between his teeth and gave it a tug. Anduin gasped. Wrathion used the opportunity to ease open his mouth and then leaned into him, covering his body in his embrace. 

The dragon’s fingers slipped into the king’s open coat, disappearing beneath the white-and-gold folds to rest against his waist on both sides. While the outer layers of his clothing were heavy and coarse, the under-layer felt smooth against Wrathion’s open palms. Anduin’s breath hitched. Wrathion all but swallowed his sigh. His hand wandered from Anduin’s waist to his abdomen, and then to play with the last button of his vest. 

When Anduin made no move to object or swat his hand away, he continued his exploration, dipping under yet another layer of the human’s clothes and finding a soft undershirt concealing abs that tightened under the brush of his nail.

“Okay?” He murmured against Anduin’s parted lips. Anduin said nothing, but instead nodded—definite and firm—while he returned the kiss with undaunted fervor. Wrathion felt his hands tighten against his cheeks, as if insisting he stay where he was and keep doing just what he was doing. 

Wrathion didn’t need him to tell him twice. 

Now emboldened, he dropped his hand to the front of Anduin’s pants to the half-hard bulge he found there. Cupping his palm around it, he squeezed, then thumbed the tip that had been pushed slightly to the side by his arousal. Even this quick contact was enough to make the king twitch, and Wrathion relished in it. 

The hands on Wrathion’s face relaxed, then fell to rest in the hair on his shoulders. With his head free, Wrathion broke the kiss and leaned back to look into Anduin’s eyes. The king’s flushed lips curled down into a pout, but it didn’t last for long. After Wrathion gave him another squeeze his eyes fluttered closed. His head tilted back against the wood door, and one of his hands left Wrathion’s shoulder to grasp the stone wall to their left. 

The human shuddered, and his nails dug into the grout, as if fighting to find purchase. Wrathion soon understood why. When he stroked along the king’s length, he felt him rock forward into his touch. His knees buckled slightly against Wrathion’s, and his face burned red in the light of his oil lamp.

Seeing Anduin so desperate made Wrathion smirk. He wanted nothing more than to watch him fight to keep upright and feel his cock straining against the front of his pants. But there was more Wrathion wanted to see, as well. 

Making up his mind, Wrathion leaned forward and kissed the king once on the lips. With that, he slid his other hand from Anduin’s waist to his hip and then dropped to his knees. He hit the stone with a hollow ‘thunk,’ but took no time to process the slight ache he felt at the contact. He looked up at Anduin and then, when he was quite certain he was watching, pressed his face between the folds of the king’s open garment. 

He rubbed his nose against the hem of his grey silk vest and took in the scent: clean and pleasantly perfumed, but not overbearing. It was so like Anduin himself. He had always loved how put-together the prince had looked and reveled in watching him come undone. Today, despite all that had happened, seemed like it would be no exception. Kissing the top of Anduin’s pants, he cast his gaze upwards again. He was met by two searching eyes and a smile slackened slightly by a gasp it had failed to contain. 

Wrathion’s fingers left Anduin’s cock to unlatch his trouser button. Once it snapped free, the fabric parted, revealing the white of his underwear. A trail of thick blond hair Wrathion hadn’t seen before disappeared down under his underwear band. Unable to help his curiosity, Wrathion nuzzled and kissed it, enjoying the tickle against his lips. 

Resting his cheek against Anduin’s lower abs, he rolled down the garment, revealing more hair and a sharper ‘v’ down than he remembered. When Anduin’s cock finally broke free, it, too, came as a welcome surprise. Feeling through his pants hadn’t fully prepared Wrathion for how much the king had grown. His eyes widened. He grinned, and, unable to think of much else, slid down to kiss his cock at the base and nuzzle his cheek along it appraisingly. 

It was only after he felt Anduin’s fingers brushing through his curls that he realized the king was addressing him. 

“Hm?” He murmured, shooting a quick glance up before cupping Anduin's cock in his hand.

“I, ah—” Anduin gasped, and his hand clenched against the door frame. Whatever he was trying to say seemed to have become a challenge, and Wrathion didn’t intend to make it easy. He just smirked, kissed his shaft again, and slid his tongue up to the head. There was already a faint musk about him, and Wrathion relished it: the tinge of salt on his tongue, and the heady scent of the king’s arousal. 

“Whatever you are trying to say,” he teased as he gave him a measured stroke, “I am afraid you are going to have to speak up. As you can see, I’m a bit distracted.”

He could tell his breath tickled Anduin’s skin from the way he buckled and grabbed for the door. This…this was more familiar. Their years apart hadn’t dulled the way Anduin reacted to his touch, and Wrathion, it seemed, hadn’t lost his skill at it, either. 

For the first time since he arrived at Stormwind he felt truly confident that this was what the king wanted, that this was what would make Anduin happy. It was for that reason that the words that came next felt like the earth itself being ripped out from under him. 

“I…I said,” Anduin shuddered and bit his lower lip. “I said stop. Please.”

Wrathion’s fingers uncurled and his hand dropped like a weight to his lap. He felt the blood drain from his face, and his lips—still too close to Anduin’s cock, he feared—tightened into a frown. 

“All right,” he tried to reply, but his throat suddenly felt dry. He folded his other hand in his lap, as well, and looked up, hoping for an explanation but not wanting the king to feel cornered. 

When their eyes met, however, Anduin flashed a flustered smile. Rather than looking conflicted or regretful as Wrathion had feared, his gaze was earnest. Wrathion’s own jaw relaxed when Anduin tucked back his hair. His heart stopped pounding so loudly. 

Anduin smiled, and shrugged, somewhat sheepishly, before going on to clarify: “I just thought we might go to my bed, is all, rather than do this here.” 

_Oh,_ Wrathion had to swallow his laugh. Relief washed over him like a flood, and he rose and grinned at the king. “Yes, I couldn’t agree more,” he nodded, then turned on his heels towards the steps leading into the chamber. “It’s this way, is it not? I hope you don’t mind if I show myself in.”

“Not at all,” Anduin quickly shot back. From the rustling over his shoulder, Wrathion assumed he was readjusting himself, but he didn’t take time to glance back and confirm. Instead he bounded up the steps and emerged into a circular room with an expansive blue canopy bed at its opposite end. 

He headed towards it, passing a desk laden with stacks of paper and a fireplace casting its light to every wall. He reached down and untied his sash, letting it slide off his hips and curl like a snake on the floor. After undoing a few jeweled buttons, his tunic swung free, and then he shook it off, not really caring where it landed.

It wasn’t as if any of the magical garments truly mattered. He simply wanted to give the king a show, and he did. With his chest now bare, he turned back to face him. A smug look crossed his face when he caught the human watching with tightly-pursed lips. 

“Well, this is more like it!” Wrathion exclaimed. He backed up until he felt the bedpost press between his shoulder blades and finally took a pause to study his surroundings. From the portraits of nobles watching their every move to the gold lion crest above the mantelpiece, it was very much what he had imagined. 

The king’s broad—and now quite bare—chest was a surprising addition, but one Wrathion welcomed. He watched him discard his tunic on a chair by the door then cross the space with hurried steps. Just as the human passed the fireplace, he kicked off his boots. The flames flickered slightly and made his eyes shimmer and dance. 

Crossing his arms, Wrathion bit back the urge to comment on how radiant he looked. The last thing he wanted to do was to make him hesitate when he looked so utterly determined. 

Anduin quickened his approach. Wrathion listened to the soft pad of his feet on stone as he stepped up onto the landing and closed the distance between them. And then his hands were on Wrathion’s chest, sliding once more through that thick patch of hair beneath his collarbone and then drifting to the side to tease the slight perk of his pec. 

Wrathion gasped when the king’s thumb found his nipple and gave it a gentle squeeze. His nerves sparked to life, and a quiver passed from his feet to the nape of his neck. He had been so focused on pleasing Anduin that he had taken little time to consider his own situation, but when Anduin touched him he felt it all, all at once, strike him like a jolt.

He heard his pulse race in his ears and noticed how wet the inside of his trousers had grown. Holding his breath, he fought to keep some semblance of composure. It faltered, however, when Anduin kissed his neck and gave him a pointed nudge. 

“Anduin?” Wrathion murmured, regarding the king with wide, crimson eyes.

“Wrathion,” Anduin replied. His brows rose, but the smile—flustered and shy and a touch impatient—remained on his lips.

Wrathion couldn’t help himself. Not wanting to be the only one struggling to stand, he vanished his pointed boots, and hooked a foot around Anduin’s calf. The king’s breath hitched, but he stood his ground. 

The dragon tried again, gripping the bedpost to wrap his leg around the king’s waist. His other hand clutched the edge of the mattress beside him, his claws digging into the blue silk duvet. “I have been wondering,” he mused, “What kind of bed they would give to the High King of Stormwind. I must admit, I’m very eager to try it out.”

“Is that so?” Anduin shifted and pressed his hips between Wrathion’s spread legs. His pants had never been rebuttoned, and Wrathion could feel the head of his cock brushing against his mound. He gasped, loud and frustrated. Desperate to deepen that point of contact, Wrathion made the remaining item vanish, then arched his back so Anduin’s cock nudged against his swollen clit. 

The feeling of flushed skin against skin proved to be too much for both of them. Even though Wrathion had known it was coming, it still made him jerk, and his left arm buckled slightly as he fought to stay upright. 

Anduin, for his part, let out a cry. Hands that had rested on Wrathion’s chest now moved down to grasp his waist. All at once, he shifted the dragon slightly to the side, then lifted and brought him to sit on the edge of the bed. It was Wrathion’s turn to gasp, and he did. Anduin kissed him, and he buried his fingers in his blond hair. Anduin reached down to drop his pants, and Wrathion scooted back, legs open, as he waited for the human to join him. 

The king crawled up onto the bed, and their lips met again. It took a few moments, and a few readjustments from Anduin, before they were back to the same tempo of the kisses they had shared in the entryway. 

Soon Wrathion was sucking at the human’s lower lip, and the human’s blond hair was falling beside his cheeks like curtains. Every inch of their bodies moved together, but it still didn’t feel quite enough. Wrathion arched his back to get more. His claw-like nails dug into Anduin’s back and his toes bunched up the sheets. He rolled his hips. Anduin rocked to meet him with his cock pressed flush between his wet lips. 

“Oh-!” Wrathion gasped. Anduin used his free hand to brush back his curly hair, then rested their foreheads together. Wrathion opened his mouth to say more, but before he could ask, Anduin gave him what he wanted. The human squirmed a hand between them, then slid his fingers down to either side of the dragon’s clit. He rubbed. Wrathion threw back his head on the pillow as a tremor ran up his spine.

With his thighs starting to quiver, all he could do was part them further, giving Anduin better access. When the human teased his hood, he trembled. When he thumbed at the sensitive head, he let out a moan. He could feel Anduin’s gaze on his face, but he didn’t balk at it or make any attempt to mask his pleasure. 

Instead he slid his hand from Anduin’s back to the back of his neck, guiding him into a kiss, and moaned, desperate for more. 

The king’s first few strokes were uneven, but he quickly seemed to find his rhythm. He rubbed, and then jerked him between his thumb and his index finger, and if he hadn’t been lying atop the dragon Wrathion would have thrust up from the bed. As they were, all he could do was sigh and kiss every inch of the king he could reach. 

His mouth moved from Anduin’s lips to his cheek, then to his ear, then down to his neck. He bit down to muffle his cry, and, in doing so, earned one from Anduin, instead. The human thrust forward, his cock rubbing against the inside of Wrathion’s leg. Wrathion felt him throb, felt the brush of his hair against his abdomen and the soft skin of his balls resting against his slit. 

As much as he wanted to let go and savor the king’s every stroke, he did not want to neglect him, either. Pressing his head against Anduin’s shoulder and shifting slightly, he worked his own hand between them, as well. First he thumbed at the king’s small nipple, then he ran his fingers down the center of his abdomen, before finally wrapping them around the base of his cock.

Their hands brushed between Wrathion’s legs. Anduin gave him a nudge and tried to continue stroking, but Wrathion persisted. With a firm grip on his shaft, he guided it back between his lips and rubbed. Anduin gasped. His eyes widened slightly in presumed understanding, and he withdrew his wet fingers to rest them, instead, on Wrathion’s waist. 

“Thrust against me,” Wrathion murmured, cupping his cock in his palm and rocking up against it. Anduin nodded, rolling his hips down and forward and digging his free hand into the mattress beside Wrathion’s head. The slight change of position allowed the dragon some freedom of movement, and he used it to wrap his legs around Anduin’s waist. 

Now he could rock against Anduin. He lifted his hips and dragged his clit along the underside of his shaft. The shudder that passed through Wrathion seemed to spread to the king, because he bunched up the bedsheets in his grip and bowed his head forward to gasp against Wrathion’s cheek. 

His breath felt hot next to Wrathion’s ear, and the head of his cock felt slick as it slid up into the thick hair on Wrathion’s mound. The dragon’s thighs trembled. His lower body started to tighten with every nudge against the flushed nub of flesh. He felt it twitch, aching for release, but he wanted more.

He wanted to be closer, to feel the king press inside. He wanted their bodies entwined and to believe, if even just for a moment, that he’d never have to go. 

“Anduin?” He murmured, turning to nuzzle his cheek. The king nodded, but at first only let out a moan. Wrathion continued, louder and slightly more pointed, “I’d like you inside me.”

This seemed to get the king’s attention. He lifted up and looked down into his eyes with a smile, “Yes?”

“Yes,” Wrathion returned the look. Leaning up and pressing their lips together, he couldn’t help but feel they were back in their bed at the Tavern, shyly admitting that they wanted the other to be their first. 

But this time there was no fumbling or frantic apologies whispered against his lips. Anduin just released his grip on Wrathion’s waist and slid down to find his hand. When he did, he curled his fingers around it and helped him guide the head of his cock to Wrathion’s opening. 

As slick and worked up as the dragon was, it took only a single thrust to bury the king inside. Wrathion’s eyes widened, and he gasped. His hands reached for Anduin’s shoulders but ended up tangled in the hair swinging loose near his face. The shock of Anduin’s length and how deeply he filled him quickly yielded, however, to a kind of relief, deep and visceral, that drew an unbidden moan from his lips. The next cry that came was Anduin’s, whimpered softly into the hair of his beard.

The king rocked forward and shuddered. Wrathion dug his heels into the small of his back. Though only vaguely aware of the sound, he felt the rise-and-fall of Anduin’s chest against his as he whispered the dragon’s name. 

Wrathion pressed his palm against Anduin’s cheek and guided him into a kiss, before he could feel too self-conscious about the desperate sounds he was making—or, rather, they were both making. Their lips parted. Anduin’s hips rocked back, and then—deliberately, and with a bit more control—thrust into the dragon’s heat. 

Wrathion felt every inch of him this time. He felt the way he pressed against his inner wall and the way his own body tightened in response to the contact. Once he settled into the feeling, he took time to savor it. He trailed his hand down Anduin’s spine, then back up to stroke his hair. Tilting his head back to break their kiss, he watched Anduin’s eyes: the way they widened, then squeezed closed, then opened again to regard him with a longing look.

He watched his lips tremble as a sigh escaped them, and his cheeks glow in the warm light of his chamber fire. 

Rolling his hips up off the mattress, Wrathion met his thrusts. The rhythm they found started slow but built as Anduin’s cheeks grew hotter and his nails scratched the silk of his blue duvet. Wrathion knew he must look equally disheveled, but he found it very difficult to care. All he could see and could think was Anduin. The way he smiled. The way his blond hair clung to his sweaty forehead. The way his cock felt stretching him and filling him and drawing their bodies together. 

Cupping the human’s cheek with his claw-like hand, he kissed him again, then trailed his thumb along the line of his jaw. Anduin tilted his head to the side and let out a sheepish sound. Soon they were wrapped up in a tight embrace, and Anduin was gasping into Wrathion’s hair as his hips thumped against the slick insides of his thighs. 

Gasping, Wrathion pressed the back of his head into the pillow. As Anduin’s pace increased, so too did the ache at the base of his clit and the tightness building inside. If he could just slip a hand down between them, perhaps he could—

But just as he released his grip on Anduin’s back and let his feet slide off his thighs, the king changed position. He leaned back and grasped Wrathion’s hips with more strength than the dragon had imagined him to possess. A small, surprised noise escaped him, and he looked up, trying to anticipate the human’s next move. Anduin’s face, however, was an unreadable mix of desire and…something else. Wrathion’s heart clenched in his chest. 

His momentary shock seemed to be the “in” Anduin needed. After one last thrust, he gave Wrathion a tug and flipped him over. The dragon’s face hit the pillow to his left, and just as he reached out to grasp it Anduin bore down on him. He was pinned: his gasp muffled by the blue silk pressed against his mouth and his legs spread by Anduin’s thighs. 

The king pressed his cock back between his lips and sank in. This new angle made Wrathion moan and shudder. His heart raced, but his hips rolled back to meet Anduin’s thrust. The fingers on his waist suddenly tightened their grip. 

He was a fool, he thought to himself as his nails tugged at the pillow’s gold trim. He had known what was afflicting the king, and yet he had come, nonetheless. He had stripped himself of his defenses, and now _something_ was working in Anduin’s mind and he couldn’t help but fear it had little to do with how much he’d missed him. His adrenaline started to mount. He wasn’t sure if he should say something or let him finish, and he didn’t trust himself to make the correct decision.

He turned his head to draw him a breath. He opened his mouth, but as he struggled to find his words, something changed in Anduin’s rhythm. 

The king’s grip on his hips started to loosen, and then one of his hands slid up Wrathion’s spine. It slipped under the tips of his hair, then up his shoulder, then over to rest against the back of his hand. Anduin thrust in again, this time bowing forward. Wrathion felt his nose against his back and his breath rustling through his curls. 

“Sorry,” Anduin murmured, with a shy laugh Wrathion recognized. Slowly, the dragon uncurled his clenched fingers and let Anduin’s digits lace between them. 

“I just, ah,” a small sigh cut him off, and he laughed again, before gently kissing the nape of the dragon’s neck, “I just really missed you.”

Whatever had passed over him was gone, Wrathion knew. He knew when Anduin was being sincere. He nodded, and the blood that had raced in his ears started to calm. After taking a moment to collect himself, he managed to reply in a voice far thicker with need than he had intended:

“Well? Are you planning to stay in me all night, my dear, or would you like to finish?”

“I—” The indignant sound that left the human could only be matched by the frantic thrust that punctuated it. Wrathion felt his shy declaration quiver against his skin: “I’d like to finish.”

“As would I,” Wrathion teased. Desperate to reassure the king, he caught his fingers and squeezed them down under his palm. When he rolled his hips and sank back onto Anduin’s cock he did nothing to muffle his moan. With his head turned to the side and the cool silk of the pillow caressing his cheek, he sighed and enjoyed the way the human’s length felt moving inside him.

The next time he rocked back, Anduin was there to meet him. The human’s thighs clenched against the back of Wrathion’s legs, and his free hand returned to his waist. The hair at the base of his cock brushed against Wrathion’s skin every time he buried himself in his heat. 

His shaft pressed firm against Wrathion’s inner wall. Every movement brought Wrathion closer. The dragon’s legs trembled, and his knees dug into the king’s blue duvet. A few drops of his own wetness leaked when Anduin slid out, only to make his return even easier. Soon Anduin found his pace once more. His hips bumped against Wrathion’s cheeks and his grip wavered as his cries grew louder. 

All at once, Anduin slammed into him, and the hand that had gripped Wrathion’s hand left it to clutch, instead, at the sheets by his side. He felt the shudder that passed through the king—the way he clenched and moaned with abandon, the release of any tension or apprehension that had lingered in the way he said Wrathion’s name. 

The dragon smiled and let his hand relax against the pillow. A kind of warmth spread through him, and even if Anduin had finished there, he would have been satisfied. 

But Anduin wasn’t finished. After a few ragged breaths, Anduin released his grip on the mattress. Wrathion felt it shift beneath him as the king brought his hand to his lower abdomen. His palm slid down through Wrathion’s hair and then over the head of his clit. 

The sudden contact sent a jolt racing through him. Everything in him tightened, and the nub—briefly neglected—started to throb and ache again under Anduin’s touch. 

The king stayed inside as he stroked, running his fingers down either side and thumbing the underside. It didn’t take long, however, until the dragon could hardly process his movements. All he knew was the way his body clenched, and the pleasure that shot through him with every touch.

He whimpered and struggled to catch his breath. His knees buckled, and his hips rocked of their own accord. Everything in him tightened. He scratched the pillow in a desperate attempt to keep steady, and then he came hard against the king’s parted fingers. 

For a moment, all he knew was pleasure and the distant sound of him crying out Anduin’s name. 

And then he relaxed. His body unwound, and he sank into the mattress. His shoulders rose and fell, and his curls spilled down either side of his face. He was grateful for the veil they formed; he knew his face must be burning and disheveled and he wasn't sure he was ready to look so undone. 

He vaguely felt Anduin sliding out of him. When he finally looked to his left, it was to seek out the human’s face in the orange light of the dying embers. The king smiled, and any decorum that might have insisted he ask if he should go was swiftly abandoned. 

He shifted closer. Anduin slid a hand up to brush back his hair. Not breaking eye contact, Wrathion draped a leg over Anduin’s thigh and used it to ease their chests together. When he was too close to watch his face, he chose, instead, to rest his forehead against his shoulder. 

He breathed in and took in Anduin’s scent: soft and familiar. The gentle thud of his heart against Wrathion’s ear was familiar, as well, as was the comforting way he rested his hand against the back of his head. 

From the wetness between his legs to the warmth of Anduin’s arm around him, it was everything he had dared to hope, and everything he knew he had to fight to protect.


End file.
